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Pigtails	By : CeeCee Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 11153 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the Archies fandom. This is a work of fanfiction for entertainment only, and I'm not making money from it.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Summary: The Archies star in the play they've rehearsed so hard for, and things get harder for "Danny" and "Sandy" than ever before...
Author's Note: I'll move this farther along soon; the play has toyed with me for a while in my head, because I see so many parallels between those characters and Reggie and Betty. Good girl, bad boy. Romantic and relatively pure vs. a guy who's been around the block. Same basic idea, if you ask me. In the movie, too, Danny went after Sandy only after she started showing interest in Lorenzo Lamas' character, and I wanted to capture that here. Not everyone wants the loose, fast girl like Rizzo (Veronica? Cheryl?); some want the good-natured, down-to-earth girl waiting in the wings, waiting to be noticed (Betty).
I was going to wait another "year" in the progress of this story to have Reggie and Betty get involved, but I was impatient. There will be stumbling blocks, however, because I can't iron out all my wrinkles at once and make this too fluffy. Reggie likes Betty, but in many regards, he's still a jerk. Archie hasn't forgotten about Betty. Jason is crazy about Betty, but there's a side to him that we haven't completely seen yet. There's a reason why Betty can't instinctively let herself fall COMPLETELY for him... can she? *Refer back to that kiss scene from last chapter, where she lost the "spark" that they shared before.*
There will be rivalry. Catfights. Fist fights. Angst. Possible smut. Minor characters chiming in from the peanut gallery. More grumbling from worried parents and teachers. And embarrassing moments aplenty.
Additional Note: The play Grease was written by Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey. I don't own the dialogue or any of the song lyrics referenced hereafter, nor do I make any money.
Betty's hands shook so badly on her third attempt with the eyeliner that Veronica took pity on her, wrestling the pencil from her sweaty grip. "You're messing it up. Here, let the master take over."
"Thanks. I'm a wreck."
"You'll do fine. I can't believe this is it. It seems like no time at all went by since we tried out."
"My stomach hurts."
"It's just nerves." Veronica was cool as a cucumber, and Betty was jealous of her costume. She wore a short, dark shag wig styled in messy waves, a knee-length, black pencil skirt, saddle pumps and back-seamed black stockings that showed off her legs, and a scoop-necked, red angora sweater with a chiffon scarf knotted at her neck. Her makeup was heavy and dramatic, complete with a little beauty mark she penciled on over her lip.
By contrast, Betty was more demure than she'd ever looked, feeling like she was reliving her first Communion when she was seven years old. She wore black Mary Janes on her feet, white stockings, a pink poodle skirt that reached past her knees and that was wide enough to swirl out in a circle if she spun around, and a simple white blouse. She topped it with a pale blue cardigan, and she tied her hair up in her customary ponytail, but this time, she curled her bangs and pulled a few tiny pin curls forward that hung in front of her ears. A pink scarf was tied around the base of her ponytail in a neat knot. Betty had already made up her face in foundation and a generous layer of blush, but her lipstick was a medium pink, just dark enough to make her mouth stand out when she spoke her lines.
The eyeliner was her undoing. Veronica sighed. "Hold still."
"I can't. I'm all jittery." But Veronica gripped her jaw and leaned the heel of her hand against her cheek to steady her grip.
"Look up." Betty obeyed, praying she didn't get jabbed in the eye with the pencil, but Veronica expertly, neatly lined her lower lids. "Close them." She worked on the upper ones more quickly, making the outline sharp, but not too thick. "There. Not bad." Betty peered in the mirror and nodded.
"Good. That's good. Okay. I can do this." She wiped her palms on her skirt, and both girls spun around at the sound of Ethel's wail.
"I can't find my pineapple wig!"
"It's with the props!" Dilton called out. "I'll get it!" Her smile of relief sent him running into the prop room backstage.
The set crew was moving the back drops onstage already for the front of Rydell High and the bleachers for the first musical number. Miss Grundy borrowed furniture from various departments on campus, such as cafeteria tables and benches, gym mats, tables from the teacher's lounge, hurdles from the gymnasium, and styling chairs lent by Riverdale Beauty Academy. Betty was impressed at how the crew managed to capture the mood and feel of the movie with lighting, projected images against the curtains of the outdoors and actual hallways of the school.
The girls prepared themselves, assembling their costume changes on racks that hung beside the changing tables, the garment bags labeled with each character's name on it. Veronica surprised everyone by being the first one ready in full costume, when she was usually known for her primadonna behavior when it was time to suit up for football games or put away her cheerleading gear. The boys' changing room was actually the shop lab across the hall from the auditorium. Miss Grundy and Miss Beasley policed the halls, making sure no one "meandered" into the wrong dressing room for a random peek.
Reggie isolated himself from his castmates once he was in costume, running his lines alone under his breath in front of a mirror. His voice was steady, but he was breaking a sweat and his fingers actually felt icy cold. Getting the jitters was for punks, he tried to convince himself. But it wasn't working out.
He had Betty on the brain. It was hopeless.
The kiss dogged his waking hours and haunted his sleep. He replayed the moment she turned her back on him and drove off over and over again, and it was killing him. Reggie sighed and sat back in his chair, where he began to tear a tiny makeup sponge into bits, balling them up and flicking them across the table.
A finger poked him sharply in the left shoulder, but when he turned, there was no one there.
"Whassup, man!" Chuck hooted from his right side. Reggie smirked and gave him a brief fist bump. Chuck was already dressed in a fifties-style bowling shirt, jeans that were rolled up at the cuffs, a white tee and dark Keds. "What's goin' on? Why are you hiding over here?"
"Who's hiding? Just chilling out til we go out there."
"Right. You're hiding."
"Shut up."
"C'mon. Run lines with us. Gotta get psyched up, Reg. We're playing to a packed house."
"I haven't even looked out there yet."
"Then let's go!" Reggie scrambled up from his seat after checking one last time that his hair was all right. He followed Chuck into the hall and around the corner to the rear door of the auditorium.
They crept backstage and peered around the edge of the heavy curtain. Reggie saw Jughead and the rest of the orchestra members warming up in the pit in front of the stage. Jughead omitted his usual hat and dressed up in a freshly pressed white shirt and black dress slacks, a first for him. Reggie felt a tightening in his gut as his eyes roved around the auditorium. Seats were filling up fast, even in the upper tier of seats, and his palms began to sweat.
I shouldn't be nervous. I can do this. I've been practicing for weeks. This will be a walk in the park. Reggie's confidence faltered, and he was getting scared. He almost felt like a hypocrite to school Betty on her stage fright if he was going to give in to his now. That was a big factor in his lack of certainty; Reggie had to get his own lines and timing right, but he also had to make Betty look good, read her cues and body language, maintain that chemistry between them.
It was the chemistry that was scaring him. Betty had been evasive with him outside of rehearsals for the last week, keeping their interactions brief. Worse, Jason was all over her, giving him little entry for conversation. It rankled him. Reggie wanted to cry foul and tell him, straight-up, "I saw her first."
And Betty wasn't even ignoring him. Every time he looked at her, he found her eyes glancing back, then ducking away before anyone else noticed. It drove him nuts, and Reggie wanted to pull her hair, poke her, anything to get and keep her attention for more than five minutes.
"Geez," Reggie muttered aloud.
"Feeling psyched up yet?" Chuck thought he just had regular jitters. Reggie began to sweat and felt slightly sick.
"I can do this. Sure. I can do this." Chuck frowned.
"Dude, are you turning green?" Reggie opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. He turned on his heel and hurried out of the backstage area. Chuck winced. "Ooh..."
Reggie barely made it back to the changing room, and he managed to get to a wastebasket in time to toss up everything he'd consumed in a five-hour time span. His mind demanded of his stomach, Is that corn?? His stomach answered by evicting every last fragment of dinner until he grew lightheaded. Reggie wasn't even aware that the room was still occupied. Over the sound of his own gagging, he heard several "Ews!" peppered with "Dude, that's nasty," and "You all right, man?"
"Right. Nerves. I hope." Mr. Flutesnoot hustled over with a towel and a water bottle. "Easy, son. You're not coming down with anything?"
"No," he gasped, leaning away from the can's fumes and peering up at his teacher and advisor with bloodshot eyes. "Couldn't help it."
"Give him some air," Mr. Flutesnoot snapped at his cast mates as the gathered around the spectacle. "It's nerves. Everyone gets them every now and again. You've all rehearsed and worked hard these past few weeks. Don't fret. We'll knock 'em dead!" Reggie bowed his head in shame but still took the proffered water bottle and swished out his mouth. "It's okay," he assured him, squeezing his shoulder. He took away the offending trash and tied up the bag, humming under his breath as he ran it out to the hallway. Reggie was lightheaded and euphoric but still reeling.
"You okay, man?" Chuck inquired as he caught up to him.
"Dude, that was sick," Fangs informed him, wrinkling his nose.
"Don't get up in his grill, Fangs," Bingo reminded him with a gruff slug.
"Back off," Kevin added tersely. "You got some in your hair..."
"Geez..." Reggie looked into the mirror and was mortified at his state.
"Easy to fix. That's what makeup is for. And Visine. I stockpile the stuff at home." Kevin took out the makeup kit and unscrewed the lid to some pancake foundation.
"I don't need the makeup."
"You're all blotchy. Hold still." Kevin grabbed his jaw and Reggie suffered the indignity as he daubed some beneath his eyes and over his cheekbones. "Nerves, huh?"
"I can do this. I can nail this," Reggie insisted. "I'm not gonna let anyone here down." He wanted to take back the words at the sympathy that rose in Kevin's blue eyes as he handed him the Visine.
"No one thinks that." He swiped at the side of Reggie's hair with a dampened Kleenex, and with revulsion Reggie remembered he'd gotten some sick in it. Ick.
"I've got gum," Bingo encouraged, holding out a stick of Wrigley's.
"I've got mouthwash," Kevin said, one-upping. "I like to be prepared." He reached into his backpack and retrieved a travel-sized bottle of Scope.
"You've got a pharmacy in there," Fangs marveled.
"Part of what makes me fabulous," Kevin shrugged. Fangs quirked one brow but said nothing. "Sink," he ordered, strong-arming Reggie from his seat. Reggie didn't notice how weak in the knees he was until they buckled. "Take it easy..."
"Okay. I'm okay." He swatted his hands away and took the Scope from him and dutifully swished his mouth thoroughly, killing as much of the funk in his mouth as he could. He spat, rinsed, then repeated all over again.
He had a kissing scene. He wouldn't shame himself again. Reggie began to sweat again.
"This is it," Miss Grundy announced after calling the cast into a huddle. She noticed a difference in all them as a whole; students who had little interaction with each other throughout the school year were leaning on each other companionably, holding hands or linking arms like best friends or siblings would. It had been a daunting three months, but she was satisfied. "First of all, I'm so proud of you all. This is your big night. I want you to go out there and slay that audience with how fantastic you've made this play."
"Thanks, Miss Grundy," Betty replied. "I don't know about anyone else, but I'm nervous," she admitted. Several chuckles and murmurs of agreement filled the backstage area.
"Knock 'em dead, Cooper," Miss Grundy challenged her. She hugged her favorite student and was surprised when several of her cast approached her with the same gesture, even Reggie. "You okay?" she inquired as he gave her the warm yet awkward sort of hug that characterized teenaged boys. He nodded against her shoulder and pulled away, and his usual leer found its way back onto his face. She clapped him on the shoulder. "You look like Danny."
"I feel like Danny," he agreed smugly. Miss Grundy chuckled and nodded.
"For the next two hours, you are."
"All right. I'll strike up the intro," Mr. Flutesnoot informed them crisply. "It's time!" He headed down the stairs, offstage, and entered the orchestra pit. Jughead sat casually, chafing at the itchy necktie that his mother insisted he wear with his white dress shirt, part of his orchestra attire. He twirled his drumsticks idly until Flutesnoot gestured for everyone to find the correct page of their sheet music. The orchestra members snapped to attention and found their places, preparing for their warm-up notes.
The low, even "C" that sounded from the woodwinds signaled to the audience that the play was about to begin.
"This is it," Veronica gloated. "I can't wait to get out there!" She did a few practice shimmies as they made their way toward the stage. On the way, Chuck inadvertently knocked an open bottle of Crystal water that Fangs left with a partly unscrewed cap off the dressing table as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. It spilled across the floor, and Veronica strode through the puddle. She lost her footing, and her spindly heel skidded across the hardwood floor. Her whole body felt the jolt of misstep, and her last thought was a defiant screech that this wasn't happening, nothing could ruin her moment now...
Her sprawl was ungainly, and she landed hard, twisting her ankle on the way down.
"OH! OW! Ow, ow, ow!" Her hiss of pain through her teeth sent Miss Grundy running, and Betty's eyes grew wide with horror.
"RONNIE! Oh, no! What did you do? Are you okay?"
"No," Veronica whimpered, voice hitching. "It hurts... ow."
"Come over here and help me," Miss Grundy snapped to Kevin and Chuck, who were staring with the initial shock of seeing her fall. They hurried over and shouldered themselves beneath her, hoisting her gingerly from the floor. She half-limped, half-hobbled toward a stool, but pain lanced through her ankle with every mince. "Can you walk?"
"Can you dance?" Ethel countered, posing the question that she considered more vital.
"I just need a minute. Let me have a minute," Veronica snapped, but her voice was wobbly and her eyes sparked dangerously with tears. She vowed to herself that she wouldn't ruin her makeup.
"I'll get some ice," Fangs offered guiltily. He felt horrible and didn't want to face his teacher's wrath over his carelessness. As he disappeared, Brigitte raised her hand hesitantly.
"Miss Grundy? Want me to tell Mr. Flutesnoot that we need a minute?"
"More than a minute," Miss Grundy corrected her. "We have a crisis." Brigitte nodded, nonplussed at having to exit the backstage area, since she wasn't wearing a costume, and it wouldn't ruin the effect of seeing the cast members before the curtains rose. "I can't send you out there unless I know you're okay, Veronica."
"I'll be okay," she swore. "I just twisted it a little."
"You fell very badly, sweetie." She gingerly touched her ankle, probing the tendon. Veronica hissed through her teeth. "That's tender. And it's swelling. You might have a sprain."
"It's not broken!"
"A sprain's just as bad. We'll need to ice it. Worst case scenario, though, you might have to sit this one out."
"No. Oh, no. Nononononooooooooo." Veronica shook her head adamantly. "That's not gonna happen. I'm Rizzo. This play can't happen without Rizzo."
"That's not what I'm trying to say! But Veronica, you injured yourself. It's a liability if we let you go out there and dance with a sprain, if it turns out to be one." Coach Kleats showed up moments later with a first aid kit that he retrieved from the field office. He nodded when he got a gander at her ankle.
"That looks puffy. Bet it's sprained. Almost looks like long jumper's ankle or like you messed it up in a soccer game."
"So?" Veronica snarled impatiently. "I wasn't playing sports! It's not that bad!"
"Can you walk on it?" he challenged.
"Sure I can!" She rose awkwardly from the stool, defiance squaring her shoulders as she took a first, uncertain step. "Ooh. Shit. OW." She sat back down quickly, accepting Miss Grundy's hand to help her balance herself. "Sorry for the potty mouth... don't tell my dad."
"I'll let that one go," she reassured her, shaking her head. "Well, dear, this is a fine mess. I think you have to sit this one out."
"NO!" she cried, stomping her good foot. She winced and let out a sound akin to a whine. By the time Coach Kleats returned with an ice pack, she was in tears. Archie sat beside her, arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Betty felt guilty for the frisson of jealousy that snuck up on her as she watched her bestie cozying up to her crush.
"Do you want to tell the audience it's a no-go, or should I?" Miss Grundy bit her lip, watching Mr. Flutesnoot hopefully. He shook his head. He turned to Brigitte, who was tidying up the vanities and straightening up the mess left by the makeup.
"Brigitte? Suit up."
"Huh?" Her mouth dropped open, making her resemble a guppy.
"You're going on?"
"WHAT?" Veronica demanded angrily, shock written across her puffy features.
"We need Rizzo. You know all the music. You know your lines."
"I don't know the dance moves!" she protested.
"You know then well enough. Just follow along as best as you can," Miss Grundy shrugged. "You can do it. Don't you want to go out on stage and show everyone you're a star?"
"But... I'm not a star. I'm Jan," she pointed out in confusion.
"But you could be Rizzo. The It Girl. The boss. The flirt. How does that sound?"
"C'mon, Brigitte," Betty encouraged, grinning. "Come out onstage with me. It'll be awesome."
"I never thought this would happen." She turned to Veronica. "Is it okay with you?"
"No!" she snapped. "I don't care. Just go. Leave me alone."
"Okay, then," Flutesnoot piped up. "Ronnie, give Brigitte the wig." Veronica worked it off her head and miserably handed it over. Miss Grundy took it from him, grabbed Brigitte and steered her toward the mirror by the stage door. "We'll have to improvise with the costume. I have a black skirt you can wear that should fit. We also have a pink lady jacket that might work out," she suggested.
"There aren't any in my size," Brigitte complained as Miss Grundy began to work the wig onto her head, tucking in her ginger brown hair.
"Then you can wear it wrapped around your shoulders. It'll work out fine. Girls wore their boyfriend's sweaters that way all the time, back in the day. I should know." Brigitte squirmed as her English teacher and play director shouted "I need makeup! Betty, run get me the kit! Hurry! And the black skirt in the back of the wardrobe closet."
"I think I'm going to be sick," Brigitte murmured.
"Gum?" Bingo suggested helpfully.
*
Minutes later, the auditorium was buzzing with mass confusion, wondering when the play would start. Mr. Flutesnoot steeled himself, then walked calmly onto the stage. He tapped the microphone. "Can you hear me?" A few people nodded in reply. "All right! Welcome and thank you for coming to our presentation of Grease tonight. We're thankful for your support, and I know you'll enjoy the show. We have some amazing young talent, and the kids have been working their tails off for the past couple of months. Now you can watch all that rehearsing of lines and songs they've no doubt been driving you crazy with at home pay off!" A few amused titters greeted him, and he felt relieved that it was almost time for him to get off the stage. "I'd like to make one more last-minute announcement. We had a cast change tonight due to a slight mishap." He nodded toward Hiram Lodge, who sat in the front row with his arms crossed, looking resigned. The middle-aged millionaire nodded in acknowledgment, and Flutesnoot didn't envy the man the task of consoling his daughter at night's end. "The role of Rizzo will now be performed by our equally talented understudy, Brigitte Reilly! Now, please turn off your cell phones and enjoy the show. Thank you." With that, Elmer Flutesnoot left the stage in search of some Tylenol.
He returned to the orchestra pit and tapped the music easel with his small baton. "Give me a C, time to warm up," he muttered to his musicians. Jughead tugged uncomfortably at his necktie and began a low, steady drum roll. "One, two..." The low, combined whole note rang out from the pit for eight beats; their conductor brought his closed fists down in the gesture to stop, which they did in unison. He hoped the rest of the night went as smoothly.
Miss Haggly took her place at the piano, flexing her arthritic fingers to warm them up. She lifted the lid to the keys and nimbly picked out the notes to the opening bars of "Summer Lovin'," providing a low background to the dialogue and signaling the Greasers and Pink Ladies to enter the scene. Betty and Brigitte's hands were both clammy; Reggie's stomach was tied up in knots, and Ethel felt faint. This was it. Now, or never.
The cast gradually bustled into the background; as the lights came up, the stage was transformed into a school courtyard with lettering that read "Welcome Back, Rydell High class of 1959!" Suddenly, a demure-looking blonde ran toward the center of the stage, laughing breathlessly. A tall, handsome boy with dark hair chased her, darting back and forth to cut off her escape. He tried to kiss her, but she fended him off, wriggling loose. He tried again, devilish smile intact.
"I'm going back to Australia." Her voice was pleading. He tried to shrug it off, chucking her under the chin.
"Don't talk that way, Sandy."
"I've just had the best summer. And now I have to leave! It isn't fair!" Danny took that as a signal. He leaned forward to nuzzle Sandy's ear, and the look she gave him entreated him. "Danny, don't spoil it!"
"It's not spoiling it. It's making it better." She swatted at his hands, which drifted from her waist to her hips. Her expression was a tolerant scold, but his smile undid her resolve. He kissed her cheek, leaning his forehead against hers. The cast behind them ignored them, obscured by the dim back lighting as the opening scene reached its end.
"Danny, is this the end?"
"Of course not. It's only the beginning."
The lights came up backstage, and they separated. Sandy's attention was caught by her new friend, Frenchie, while Danny Zuko sauntered over to meet his boys by the bleachers.
"How you doin', huh?!"
"HEY, DANNY! HEY, COME ON!"
"Hey, how you doin'? Good to see you." Reggie gave Frankie's "Kenickie" a one-armed man hug that ended in a mock-tug of war.
"You seen any new broads over there?"
"Nah. Just the same old chicks."
"So, what did you do all summer, Danny? "
"I was hanging around at the beach." Knowing looks and hoots greeted this news, and Danny smirked.
"With chicks hanging around YOU! "
"The only thing that hangs around Sonny are flies!"
"HOW WAS THE ACTION AT THE BEACH?" his friends shouted.
"OOH! It was flipping." On cue, Reggie flipped up his jacket collar.
"OOH. Crazy, YEAH! "
"I did meet this one cool chick."
"You mean she puts out?"
"Is that all you ever think about?"
"FREAKIN' A!"
From the other side of the stage, the Pink Ladies gradually converge on the courtyard, dragging their feet about going inside the school.
"Do I look okay, Frenchie?" Big Ethel nodded, mentally hoping her sandy blonde wig wouldn't fall off.
"Sure, Sandy!"
"I'm really nervous."
"Aw, you look terrific."
"So this is Rydell?"
"Yep, you'll love it."
"I loved my last school." Betty, as Sandy, wore a mournful expression, evoking an image of an abandoned kitten. "I wish I was there. I'm no stranger to heartbreak."

"WHY? You got psoriasis?" The audience chortled at Frenchie's effort, enjoying the malapropism. Ethel's timing and gestures were spot-on.
"Oh, God."

"Well, here we are again."
Rizzo took off her sunglasses, sliding them to the end of her nose and giving the courtyard a jaundiced look. In the background, extras pointed and whispered among themselves at the sight of the flamboyant girls in pink satin jackets and high-heeled shoes. She and Marty elbowed each other. Miss Grundy decided Cheryl could forgo the wig, since her long red hair was eye-catching enough under the stage lights. She blew it out and teased it high, easily fitting the profile of Marty's character.
"This time we're seniors! We're going to rule the school!"
"Jan, that's so adolescent."
"We are adolescent."
"We don't have to flaunt it." Marty rolled her eyes at Jan's understudy, the new girl who transferred in from Midvale High. Melody Thomas wore her platinum blonde hair tucked up into a drab brown wig that was combed into girlish pigtails with pink satin ribbons. Miss Grundy fashioned a padded undersuit that would make the normally lithe girl look pleasingly plump. No one would recognize her from how she looked day to day. Melody was a bubbly girl, but not the sharpest knife in the rack. The role of Jan fit her perfectly, and surprisingly, she was a quick study.
"Okay, girls. Let's go get 'em." Rizzo replaced her sunglasses and switched confidently toward the front door. Brigitte's stomach was full of butterflies, but so far, the audience seemed to believe in her. She hoped her voice didn't give out when it was time to sing.
Betty felt her stomach lurch all the way up into her throat. The musical number went off smoothly enough, even though she struggled with the high notes. She almost wished that she'd picked the role of Marty or Jan instead, but it just wasn't her. Betty was made of sugar, not spice. Sandy seemed like the right way to go.
Reggie found it hard not to steal looks at Betty. She was damned cute, wholesome and fresh-faced, which wasn't a stretch, but he liked how well she made the old school style work. He believed she was Sandy. He had a part to play, and they'd rehearsed it so frequently, he could recite both parts in his sleep. Of course, it didn't help that he dreamed about her every night. The kiss dogged him, begging him to repeat it.
They reached their marks on stage and collided, then each froze as they realized their hearts' desire was standing right in front of them. "Danny?"
"Sandy?" Betty was amazed again at how Reggie could look overjoyed for that brief moment, reaching for her, and equally surprised at how fast he could turn it off. Her emotions spun in response, and she wished Reggie would look at her that way in real life, thrilled and relieved to see her again, like he got what he wanted for his birthday.
He snapped into "Danny" mode, immediately aloof and cool. Their introductory scene was upon her, and Betty steeled herself.
"Betty cleared her throat and mulled over the lines for a moment before throwing herself into the scene. “Danny?” Reggie changed before her eyes, getting into character quickly. He pretended to straighten his collar, and his expression became smug and detached.
“That's my name, don't wear it out.” And there he was, posturing and strutting for his boys behind him. Low "Ooooohs!" of derision rose up from behind Danny as they eyed Sandy up and down and found her wanting.

“What's the matter with you?” Sandy was distraught and confused. Reggie flinched at "Danny's" betrayal of what they once had.

“What's the matter with me, baby, what's the matter with you?”

“What happened to the Danny Zuko I met at the beach?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe there's two of us. Why don't you take out a missing person's ad? Or try the yellow pages, I don't know.”

“You're a fake and a phony and I wish I never laid eyes on you!” The words came out in a rush, and Betty was exhilarated that they made it through, and for a moment, just for a moment, she saw that she had taken Reggie off-guard. There was a hint of regret in his dark eyes as he went with it, played his role, feeling that guilt over letting her down. Betty ran from the stage, heart pounding.
She was just about ready to faint.
*
A lot of hard work and attention to detail went into the slumber party set, emulating a girlish, cluttered bedroom littered with cosmetics, fluffy throw pillows and posters of fifties icons on the walls. The audience loved Melody's impression of the Ipana toothpaste beaver, and once again Ethel stole the show as Frenchie as she explained that Sandy couldn't handle the sight of blood, emulating her best friend throwing up.
Brigitte knew her next number could make or break her. She'd been rehearsing for it, and she knew every word, every note by heart, but what she needed was the attitude. Miss Haggly began plucking out the intro to "Sandra Dee" offstage as Brigitte rummaged through the cluttered vanity for a short, wavy, dishwater-blonde dress-up wig. Miss Grundy sent Miss Beazly to the discount store at the last minute during intermission to find a pair of shortie pajamas in Brigitte's size, something they never projected needing when Veronica was slated to play Rizzo. Again, Brigitte felt awkward onstage in sleepwear, hoping no one laughed at her the following Monday because she looked fat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jughead down in the orchestra pit. He's looking at me! She wanted to scowl at the way that he stared at her, and she knew he was allowed; she was onstage, obviously. But... his expression wasn't derisive or snotty at all. He gave her a lazy smile and a brief thumbs-up. Brigitte's cheeks turned bright pink. Confidence rose into her chest, and she realized, I can do this.
She leapt up onto the bed, vamping and posing, and the first notes tumbled from her mouth, on-key and perfectly phrased.
"Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee!
Lousy with vir-gin-it-y!
Won't go to bed
Til I'm legally wed!
I can't! I'm Sandra Dee!"
The audience ate it up. From offstage, Betty watched and grinned at Brigitte's performance, still in her demure ruffled nightgown. She felt a presence at her elbow and smelled familiar cologne, and she shivered.
"She's great."
"She's really getting into it. She deserves this."
"So do you." Betty tingled at his low, gruff tone. "You worked hard enough for it."
"So did you," she murmured back. She met his gaze for a moment, then quickly looked away. Her heart skipped again when his hand brushed hers.
"Betty..."
"Shhhh!" Miss Grundy held her fingers to her lips. "Zip it!"
Down in the audience, Jason watched the show with his parents, wavering between boredom and amusement. He was grateful that Cheryl hadn't gotten any of the singing parts, but he was impatient to see more of Betty onstage. She looked cute as Sandy, but he was looking forward to her other costume changes, and more especially the end of the play when he could take her out.
His jealousy reared its head when Reggie strutted around in front of her and during the drive-in scene, making him wish he could punch out his lights. Mantle looked like he was enjoying himself too much when he tried to force her to make out with him. In the back of his mind, Jason wondered...
... was Betty sometimes that reluctant to kiss him?
She was more standoffish lately, not unhappy to see him, but just more distracted, not as eager to make dates with him, and she was quicker to leave when he randomly met her between classes. It was driving him nuts. Moreover, she saw Mantle every day at rehearsal, and that pushed his buttons.
The play would be over soon. Once the production wrapped, he decided, things would resume their normal footing. Jason would have Betty's attention all to himself, and he could dazzle her with no distractions.
He couldn't wait for the payoff.
Ethel's palms felt sweaty during her entire song number with Kevin, even though she didn't have to sing or dance a note. Kevin was a hit, fantastic as the Teen Angel, handsome yet untouchable in his pristine white tuxedo. Her pink wig itched, but she couldn't risk scratching onstage. She made appropriate sighing gestures as he moved around stage serenading her. It felt awkward, and Ethel was self-conscious.
Kevin escorted down the short flight of stairs, down to the edge of the stage, and a spotlight bathed them both, practically blinding her. Kevin almost felt sorry for her; her rapid pulse made its way to the surface when he took her hand, and she looked about ready to faint.
Dilton watched her from the wings. She looked beautiful, and he felt wistful, having to watch her from the background. The problem was, he was too used to it by now. Dilton wanted to be with Ethel, but he had no idea how to go about letting her know. She was easy to be with, to her credit, but Dilton's palms sweated from the tension and his attempts to take to her without feeling... nerdy. It was awkward. But Ethel wasn't like the other girls. She never treated him like a little kid or a freak. Dilton sighed and checked the next set for the upcoming carnival scene. At least he could make himself useful. Sometimes, the people working in the background were just as important as the ones in the spotlight.
*
Veronica sulked backstage, hating Brigitte, Mr. Flutesnoot, and everyone else singing their hearts out in front of her audience. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying and her nose was red. She was still inconsolable, but Archie was doing his best to provide moral support.
"Soda?" he whispered to her.
"Is it diet?"
"No."
"Then, no." He sighed and took her hand. She pulled it away, folded her arms and limped off miserably. Her ankle still throbbed, but she couldn't sit still.
"You should put your feet up."
"Don't tell me what I should do."
"Fine. Sorry." He shook his head. He hated it when she was like this, not that Archie could blame her, but he felt helpless and unnecessary. "There's still the school performance on Friday," he murmured.
"Great. That's great. Brigitte already did this one, and this is the more important show. Everyone will remember her as Rizzo, not me."
"Ron, you'll still be great."
"It's not fair."
"Ronnie, you couldn't help falling down. You hurt your ankle. You could have hurt it even worse dancing out there." Tears welled up in her eyes again and Archie heard a warning sniffle. "Sit down. Put your foot up. You'll make it worse pacing around."
"I'm just so angry," she hissed, and Archie decided to brave her wrath. She didn't fight him when his arms slid around her waist and pulled her back against him, and her tears fell freely again when he whispered in her ear that it was going to be all right.
"You're still a star," he murmured into her neck. "You're still special. You would have been fantastic out there."
"She's a better singer than me," Veronica whimpered.
"Singing isn't everything. You would have killed that part."
"You mean it?"
"Yeah. I do." She turned and embraced him, giving in to the urge to trust him with her grief and frustration. His hands felt good, stroking her back and soft hair.
Reggie glanced back at the pair and felt an odd sense of detachment. It was odd. Two years ago, give or take, he would have burned with jealousy to be where Archie was now. Veronica always seemed like the perfect fit for him, certainly the "gold standard" of the girl he was supposed to want to be with. But lately, even though she was still hot, still a live wire, funny, bright and a flirt, he just didn't feel the same way he did before. It baffled him.
It wasn't just that she was beautiful. Archie wanted her. Reggie enjoyed the competition for her affections before, only until he realized that he shouldn't want someone that he had to compete for in the first place. He knew it built up Veronica's ego to have more than one person fight for her. It gave her a sense of power; certainly he'd been there himself, before.
Yet, wasn't that what was happening between him and Betty Cooper? Was it her attraction to Jason that was drawing him to her? Did he need to see someone else being interested in her to realize her appeal? The possibility left him in a dark mood.
No.
No way. He liked Betty because she was Betty, not because she belonged to someone else. That might have been a small factor that opened his eyes, but Reggie wasn't that kind of jackass. If Betty broke up with Jason, Reggie would still want Betty, and if anything, he'd pound down her door for her to give him a chance.
"I need you," Veronica whispered into Archie's neck. Pride filled his chest.
"I'm not going anywhere."
They watched the rest of the play from the wings. Betty drifted to the edge of the entryway, back in her schoolgirl outfit and cardigan for the scene between the T-Birds and the rival gang. Betty hovered near Reggie, who was murmuring his lines to himself and getting into character. Archie watched Betty gently touch his arm, and for a moment, she held his hand as if to reassure him. Reggie reluctantly let her go as he headed out onstage for the next scene.
A flicker of jealousy burned in Archie's gut. It was instinctive.
*
Reggie made it through the Thunder Road race sequence without breaking a sweat, even though it felt funny to pretend to race a car prop they'd made from a junker in shop class. Moose, Jughead, Fangs and Bingo worked for weeks on it, welding and detailing it, even though it was only the front half of an old Chevy the school bought from the pick-and-pull lot. But it worked, and all of the boys received extra credit toward passing their elective.
Betty was all butterflies again as the "race" came to a close. Her big finish was growing closer, and she was afraid to make a fool of herself. She knew all she had to do was go out and have fun with it, be someone who she normally wasn't, but it still scared her.
Would Reggie be satisfied with her performance? What would he think of her? Would he think she could keep up with him on the big song and dance number? Moreover, how would be react to the costume? At dress rehearsal, she'd only danced in the high heels, wisely leaving the costume in the wardrobe for the time being, but her stomach was in knots.
Ethel nudged her, all smiles as the Greasers whooped and hollered at Danny's victory. Reggie spared her a quick glance of longing, but went along with his friends offstage.
"Danny won! Isn't that great?"
"Yeah."
"What's the matter? Aren't you happy?"
"Not really, Frenchy, but I could be. Can you help me?"
"Of course."
"Let's go to your place."
"Sure. Come on." They made their way backstage, and Betty knew her moment truth loomed ahead of her.
Now or never.
*
Jason watched from the audience, curiosity piqued. He wished he could take a picture with his phone, but it wasn't allowed.
That Mantle was such a ham. He did a decent job, but Jason would never give him that much credit. He loved any opportunity he could get to be the center of attention and hog all the credit.
But most of all, Jason couldn't stand him, because Betty appeared to like him, as much as, if not more than she did Archie Andrews, and that made Reggie a threat.
*
Reggie strutted onto the midway field as carnival music was piped into the auditorium. He straightened his Rydell sweater as his Greaser buddies accosted him.
"Well, well, well!"
"What is this, Halloween?"
"Where did you swipe this letterman's sweater?"
"While you were out stealing hubcaps, I lettered in track."
"I can't believe it! Danny Zucco turned jock?"
"That's right." Reggie looked smug and pleased with himself.
"What are you doing, deserting us?"
"You can't follow a leader all your lives. You know you mean a lot to me, but Sandy does, too. I'm going to anything I can to get her, that's all."
Miss Haggly played the intro to "You're the One That I Want" with a slow, ad-libbed flourish while the Pink Ladies made their way onstage again, and a loud wolf whistle broke through the crowd, drawing everyone's attention left-stage.
"SANDY?" Reggie's mouth dropped open.
"Tell me about it, stud." It was Betty.
It was his wet dream come true.
She'd teased her hair during the third act's intermission and changed into the final costume, snug, black and leaving little to his imagination. Betty wore the black Lycra spandex pants and black platform heels. Miss Grundy limited her to a black tee instead of an off-the-shoulder top, and she wore a T-Bird leather jacket over it, the smallest one they had in the wardrobe. She carried an unlit, fake cigarette as a prop, pretending to take a drag off it with glossy red lips. Betty shifted her weight to one hip and vamped. The piano number reached the opening bars of the song, and Reggie threw himself into it full throttle.
"I've got chills,
They're multiplyin'!
And I'm losin' control!
From the power
You're supplyin',
It's ELECTRIFYIN'!"
Betty stomped out her fake cigarette, emulating Marty and Rizzo's gesture off-side and she tossed them the jacket before she picked up her part. She prayed her voice didn't crack. She wanted to die...
"You better shape up,
Cause I need a man!
And my heart is set on you.
You better shape up,
You better understand,
To my heart, I must be true!"
Jason watched in awe. That wasn't his girlfriend. That... was a sex goddess. He'd never be able to talk to her again without picturing her in the full makeup, in those tight, hot little pants, shaking those hips.
He definitely wished he could take a picture with his phone or capture it on video. Yet...
... she was dancing for Reggie. Teasing him. Flirting with him. Leading him on the way she moved, practically shaking her tail under his nose. Reggie was close enough to her to smell her perfume...
Jealousy gripped him. Then, it consumed him when Danny finally caught up to Sandy, pulled her close, and gave her a tantalizing kiss.
*
For three breathless seconds, Betty didn't hear the song. Her heart pounded and her cheeks felt hot. She felt nothing else but Reggie's hands locked at her waist and his smooth, firm lips. Her legs turned to jelly.
"Oh, look, the gang's together!" Frenchy's shrill cry snapped her back to attention, and the moment was gone. Betty almost forgot all of her dialogue; she was completely shaken. But she had one more song to finish.
Then, she could make her way offstage, fully realize what had happened, and faint.
It was written into the script. It was tasteful. It was brief. But it was still a kiss. It was still Reggie, beneath the slicked back hair and tight black tee. It still made the world stop.
Betty was more confused than ever. He was under her skin.
*
The play was a wrap. They went out and linked hands, taking their bows. Reggie and Betty were first, meeting mid-stage. They received a standing ovation, but it grew thunderous as Ethel took her turn, still dressed in Frenchy's pineapple wig, and it swelled even more loudly for Brigitte and Kevin.
Reggie felt Betty's pulse in her grip. She spared him a look, and she had questions in her blue eyes. He didn't want to let her go. Her hand slipped from his grip, and they headed offstage for the last time.
Betty hurried from the back corridor toward the dressing room, bypassing Veronica and Archie. She needed a moment.
"Betty, you were great!" Archie called after her.
"Where are you going?" Ron demanded. "What's up with that?"
Reggie watched her flight and ignored his friends' calls to join them for cast pictures out front. "Bets," he muttered. "Shoot..." He ran after her, needing to talk to her, and worried that she might be upset.
Betty hurried to the sink and splashed her face with cold water, heedless of her makeup. She drew in long, deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate. She'd kissed Reggie. In front of everybody, she kissed him.
Jason watched her kiss him. He'd be furious. Betty felt slightly sick, yet exhilarated. Reggie felt so right. They fit together so well. The kiss would haunt her all night long, and she knew she wouldn't sleep.
She heard a low knock on the door, and Betty quickly blotted her face with some paper towels. "Coming!" she cried, and she shuffled toward the door awkwardly in her heels, which were starting to pinch.
Reggie peered inside through the crack of the doorway, his brown eyes concerned. "Bets? You all right?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"You ran off."
"I needed a minute."
"Can I come in?"
"This is the girl's dressing room."
"Just for a second."
"Okay." Her voice wavered and her hands shook as she opened the door to let him in. She stepped back, and he seemed to swallow up all the space between them as he kicked the door shut behind him. His hand flew out and snapped around her wrist. "We can't," she hissed, but he pulled her toward him, and his eyes were burning with need. "Reggie, I can't."
"Yes, you can." His arm looped itself around her waist, and he silenced her with a searching kiss. Betty was lost. She whimpered into his mouth and her arms crept up around his neck. He stole her sweetness and heat, taking his time as he'd wanted to do from that fleeting peck. He'd dreamed about it, yearning for her since she'd come into his home. Betty felt his fingers combing through her hair, stroking it back from her face. Her flesh was warm beneath the thin Lycra, and she could smell his cologne.
They sprang apart at the sound of the door clicking open, and Ethel stood gaping, staring at Reggie. "Um. You're not supposed to be back here."
"Leaving," he assured her, slinking past her. Betty's cheeks were bright red, and, Ethel noticed, her lip gloss looked like it had been kissed off, her blonde hair in complete disarray.
"What did I miss?"
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